SABACC - The Aftermath.  A story by R.C.Miller

  Major Jaltes Jace was a fairly young, but experienced and confident, Grey pilot.  He'd graduated from the Academy with top marks in Combat Tactics.  After spending some time in the Fleet he put in for duty with Grey.  He'd come up through the ranks quickly, but he'd earned every promotion and felt good about them.  He'd just come in from one of the most demanding missions he'd ever flown and, being one of the few Fighter Pilots in General Greedo's "Sabacc Gamble" mission to hyper his Starfighter to the rendezvous point - most of the rest were in process of being recovered by the Rescue and Salvage teams - jumped from the cockpit and landed with a resounding thud on the flightdeck floor.  He flung his helmet off to let it skid across the floor back toward the B-Wing he'd just parked, and only briefly acknowledged the cheers from the maintenance and repair crews.  He made his way quickly through the throng to the Deck Officer amidst thumps on his shoulders and back, with quick smiles to the crew.

  "Where's Castor?"  The question fired from his lips as he snagged the Deck Officer's arm.

  The D.O.'s quick intake of breath and scowl, as he was firmly turned to face his "assailant" was calculated to show his displeasure to the hand that was handling him so roughly.  But as he completed his turn and saw the look of concern in the Major's eyes, the D.O. felt it better to drop the matter, this time, particularly since it was one of the esteemed Grey pilots who had committed the indiscretion.

  Grey was a squadron renowned throughout the entire Rebel Squadrons, their missions were legendary, and their tactics were required learning at the Academy.  The Odin, Grey's mothership, was entrusted with the personal "hands on" training of only the best of the Cadets.  Grey, in their off time, helped train the priviledged few Cadets in everything from Starfighter repairs, maintenance, and diagnostics to "Combat Tactics for all Occasions", as some of the jokingly put it.  Many of the Grey pilots, if they moved on at all, advanced to command positions.

  Many of the Odin's crew, and all of Grey, had officially requested to be transferred here, and the waiting list was almost as long as for Rogue Squadron and IT's support crew.  One was not taken onto the Odin lightly, and, with General Greedo commanding, those who didn't fit in immediately with the smooth functioning of the ship and crew, or didn't remain that way, were summarily transferred.  So, considering all of this, unless a dire "faux pas" was committed - and extremely few ever were - one did not take exception to a Grey.

  "He's coming in at the Medical Ops port, sir."  Answered D.O. smartly, always having prided himself on always knowing the whereabouts of every craft belonging to the Odin.

  "Thanks," Jaltes called over his shoulder, and he was off and running toward the specified location.

  As he turned the corner into the last short stretch of corridor, he met Captain Rabid, a man whose face and hands bore more scars than you'd think it was possible.  Rabid, the only name anybody ever used for him - and not much else about him was publicly known - had arrived here only seconds earlier, and was leaning, hands against the bulkhead.  Both stood panting, slightly out of breath, having run to the port to meet the Grey Squadron Commander.

  Most of the traffic was docking close to Medical Operations as the "Rescue and Salvage" teams brought in their findings.  The Transport that Castor was on was in the process of bringing back Alliance officers, wounded and not, from the Star Destroyer which had been in command of the unit that had captured the Odin.  They shook hands, slapped each other on the shoulders, and congratulated the other on another successful mission.

  General Greedo, clone of the original Greedo, and ex-bounty hunter for Emperor Palpatine, had turned renegade because of the abuses the Emperor bestowed upon the Rodian.  He'd joined the Alliance, and, after a short time, his feral instincts, along with superior combat ability and tactical brilliance, won him command of the Odin.  The General was often brusk and very often his demeanor was insulting to those who weren't used to his gruffness.

  The General had come up with a brilliant, but exceedingly risky plan.  With the aid of Colonel Castor Efrata-Landis, the pilots of Grey and the Shock Team, largely depending on timing and the coordination of the forces and the crew, they would allow the the Odin to be captured.  General Greedo and Grey had been tracking down information on an alleged "Doom's Day" weapon, thought to bear the name of "Star Hammer".  They had tracked and identified supply convoys and slave traders with the aid of a pirate leader who believed the rumors to be true.  The pirate leader, Flame, a female Rodian, decided that the most sane course of action would be to alert General Greedo, his reputation having made it's way to her ears.

  The Odin had been attacked, but had made it's way into hyper space.  The General had consulted with Castor, and immediate orders were given.  Greedo and the Shock Team would suit up, go E.V.A., attach and disguise themselves on the outside of the Odin's hull.  Castor, assuming command of the Odin, had the crew partially disable the ship, and prepare to be boarded.  Some of the Grey pilots remained aboard to keep the crew from panicing, but a few of the more advanced Cadets replaced them as they launched in order to "simulate" resistance. 

  The Odin would then be captured, and taken to a place where it's commander (Castor, at this point) and crew could be interrogated, and the Odin refitted to for Imperial use.  When the Odin arrived at it's destination, the General would send a hyper-space homing signal back to the Independence, where the Grey pilots would be resupplied and rearmed.  The Rescue and Salvage team would scour the battle site for survivors.  Hopefully, losses could be held to a minimum.

  Upon receiving the General's signal, Grey would jump to the Odin's location and cause as much of a distraction as possible to allow Greedo and Shock to place themselves in positions where the shields of the Odin and the Imperial Task Group Command craft could be taken down quickly from outside the ships, transferring between the two, unnoticed on the outsides of Imperial Transports and Shuttles.  When settled and ready, a second signal would alert the Grey pilots, already in action, that the shields were down and that the two craft could be disabled.  From there, both craft would be captured by Shock and the Alliance officers aboard.

  Castor had volunteered to take command of the Odin and the General agreed that, with Castor's particular Force talents, he would be able to be "at large" on the Imperial Command ship more quickly, and have the better chance of surviving the situation should the Imperial leaders feel the need to display their frustrations to a "captive audience".  Castor's main task was to free any captives on board the Imperial Command Craft, allow Shock Team to board, and then take down the shields on any TIE Advanceds or Gunboats that may be ready to launch.

  All had gone smoothly, more or less, and the mission had been a success - both capital craft had be taken and were now under alliance control.  Everything was done but retrieving survivors, tending to the wounded, and celebrating (one of Grey most favorite pastimes).

 Jaltes had been assigned to a B-Wing during the battle, but Rabid had stayed aboard the Odin to coordinate the retaliation strike.  Both now waited at the lock to greeat and congratulate Castor.

  The Transport lock whisked open, and General Greedo swept by, hardly even noticing anyone was present, almost before the doors had completely opened.  Jaltes only saw that he was still in his vaccuum suit, helmet in hand as if he might heave it away from himself at any time.  The General's ears twiched quite fast, which also added to the impression.

  "Sir!"  Someone called, and all present snapped to attention and saluted the, by now, empty air as the General stormed away toward his quarters without having said a word.  The only sounds were the clomping of the General's hull-boots, and the unexpected crash and clatter of his helmet as it hit the opposing wall with some force, shattered, and the pieces scattered over the floor.  Jaltes impression hadn't been wrong, and the two Grey pilots turned to look at each other questioningly while they floundered in his wake with words of congratulations not having escaped their mouths soon enough.

  "What's HIS problem?  We got the Odin back" Jaltes said, "AND the Star Destroyer, just like he'd planned."

  Rabid had started to reply "Who knows" when his voice completely failed him.  The med-techs pushed a grav-lift through the lock doors.  On it was Castor.  Jaltes gasped, and Rabid's indrawn breath hissed through his teeth as they recognized him.

  Castor's uniform was covered with blood.  His left arm was immobilized from his wrist to his chest, and by the way Castor's hand was bandaged, they could see that he was missing at least two fingers, as well as his thumb.  His left foot was twisted and crushed into a gelatinous mass.  Castor's right eye was unable to open, even had he wanted it to, because of the swelling of his face.

  An older officer, was Castor, not very handsome - but not ugly, not very tall - but not short, not very heavy - but not thin.  His hair was completely white and shoulder length - he kept it out of his eyes with a thick string tied around his head.  He smiled alot, laughed loudly at a good joke, and it was not uncommon to see him having drinks with the Cadets and Crew at the Odin's Bar and Grill.  He cared about his pilots and the Cadets he trained, and usually carried himself with a kind of quiet dignity.  Sometimes, though, his dignity slipped, and he might have been a fledgling Cadet.  He was a model officer - many showed his influence.

  Was.  Now his hair was matted to his skull, thick with blood, and he was barely recognizable as Castor.  The Imperial interrogators had tortured, and beat him insane malicious abandon.  Castor breathed shallowly, and red foam slid down his cheek from his nose and mouth.

  Rabid made a strangling noise, and Jaltes knees buckled as he sat down suddenly with his back against the wall as they all but ran with the lift into medical.  The younger man stared blankly, as he reran the mission in his head, and thought of the part that Castor had played in it.

  Jaltes head drooped to his knees, and shaking it unbelievingly he mumbled "How in hell was he able to get the shields down on that first bunch of TA's?  How could he DO that in that condition?  Oh, God!  I should have been here!  How could he do that?"

  Rabid grabbed one of the med-techs.  "What happened?" he demanded.  "Is he okay?"

  The medic shook his head, "I don't know for sure, he's in really tough shape, and he's lost an awful lot of blood.  There was a search for wounded throughout the ship.  We found him on the flight deck over there, but we didn't even see him until one of the Wookies on the team picked him up.  I don't know how we could've missed him lookin' like that.  They'll do what they can at Med-Ops, but, personally, I'm not confident we found him in time."

  Rabid thanked the tech, and stood with his eyes closed for a minute, trying one of the calming techniques that Castor had been trying to teach him.  He finally decided that it wasn't going to working this time and when he looked down Jaltes was still mumbling "I should have been here...  I should have been here..." and staring blankly between his knees, occasionally wiping his nose on his flightsuit.  Squatting down next to his younger, but higher ranking, squadron mate, Rabid put a hand on his shoulder as much to get his attention as to offer support.

  "Kid, I WAS here - don't beat yourself to death.  There was nothin' ya could've done that I wouldn't've, given the chance - or did do when I had the chance.  We all had our orders, and both the General and Castor agreed that, if things turned nasty, Castor would be the one with the greatest chance of survival as commander of the Odin, and still have a chance to help complete the mission.  

  "He's been through an awful damn lot.  He escaped from Kessel.  He lived on spice and dead bodies for, the Maker only knows, how many years - HE doesn't.  That's where he got his force trainin', kid - and someday I'll tell ya how I found out.

  "Castor isn't stupid, kid, and he isn't much into pain.  I know him, better than most, and I know that he didn't have to let 'em do that to him.  The fact that he DID says that he was protectin' someone - knowing him, most likely, us.  He let 'em have himself so that they wouldn't go lookin' anywhere else for something more fun.  He's funny like that - he does that sorta stupid stuff.  Damn his eyes!  He didn't have to let 'em - he could've stopped it!  He didn't HAVE to let them!"

  Rabid had been talking steadily faster, punctuating his sentences with shakes of Jaltes shoulders, on which Rabid's grip was beginning to be painful.  Jaltes noticed a strange look growing in Rabid's eyes while the muscles in his face started twiching.  Jaltes had heard odd rumors about Rabid, things that had happened before he'd volunteered for duty with Grey...  things that had happened since... but the whole story hadn't been told...  rumors about slavers...  Jaltes remembered when Rabid came onto the Odin.  Most everybody knew Rabid already.  Apparently, no one wanted to talk about where he'd been, and nobody else wanted to be the one to ask.

  "He came and got me!  He came for ME!  I'M the one that SHOULD've been with him!"  And with that, Rabid fairly well sprang back to his feet.  Jaltes would never tell anyone that he'd heard Rabid say, in a voice clearly not his own...  a voice deeper, and much darker...  as he walked stiffly away, "When we find the one that did this, we're goin' to rip his throat... out... with... my...... bare...... TEETH!"  The last word sounded more like a preditorial bark then speech.

  Every few seconds after Rabid had turned the corridor's corner, there was a resounding hollow thud like something hard hitting the bulkhead, accompanied by a pained growl.  Jaltes knew that it was Rabid doing the hitting - he wasn't sure he wanted to know with what.

---------------------------

  Alone in his cabin, Rabid's breathing was heavy and fast through his mouth.  His eyes were squeezed tightly closed.  His fists so tightly closed that little drops of blood smeared between his fingers.  The picture of Castor on the grav-lift filled his mind, and, when it changed, it only shifted to something worse - torture at the hands of the Slavers, other ghosts from his past.  The gruesome pictures flashed behind his eyelids, circled and danced until they all became one, a blur...  and then came the voices...

  Low growls came from deep within his throat, as his body jerked and he rolled into a semi-fetal position on the floor.  Foamed saliva sprayed from his bared teeth as the growls became louder.  His eyes flew open flashing back and forth wildly as if trying to focus on something moving to quickly to be seen, and his face contorted into a horrific mask of rage.  The growls turned into a long animal howl, like something from the depths of the Kashyyyk forest.  And the howl turned into a shriek as he rammed the back of his head on the floor time after time after time.  The shriek finally died as his lungs emptied themselves, and a blood stain grew on the floor where he continously banged the back of his skull.  His indrawn breath was to the utmost capacity of his lungs, and the following scream, had his quarters not been sound-proofed long ago, would have brought crew running from either end of the ship.

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  A while later, Rabid sat in a simulator cockpit, hands shaking, eyes flashing, and blood dripping down the back of his neck.  The sim-techs had watched him come in, load a number of historical missions, and enter the chamber.  He'd done this a number of times before, although, he'd never looked quite this bad.  They had standing orders not to disturb him, not to talk to him, not to alert anyone that he was there, and definitly NOT to let anyone else enter the chamber other than a senior Grey pilot.  The word they'd gotten, straight from the General, stated that they were to use blasters on stun to enforce their orders.

  Rabid ran and reran the Grey Tour Three Historical missions, until he finally fell asleep from physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion, his hands on the controls, and simulated stars whirling around him.

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  Rabid was found by Major Qixx Dragoon, one of the seniormost pilots of Grey, a tall handsome man that talked softly, and seemed to have a special affinity with Rabid, an understanding.  Although he was a prankster, his modus-operendi being a favored spit-ball shooter, he seemed to have hidden depths to his soul that might stay locked away from public view forever.

  Qixx had been flying an A-Wing during this last mission, and was one of the last to leave the battle scene, having stayed on to help look for survivors - Grey pilots in particular.  He'd ben told about Castor's condition, and when he didn't find Rabid in any of his usual haunts, had come directly here to the sim-hall.  After checking with the techs, he entered the chamber slowly, calling softly to Rabid, walking around so that he'd be in front of him if Rabid opened his eyes.  Qixx kept his hands open and in front of him.  As he got closer he saw Rabid's flight helmet was shattered, as was the headrest to the pilot's chair.

  "Rabid," Qixx called softly, as he gave Rabid's shoulder a soft shake.  "You okay, bud?"  _How can you do this stuff to yourself and not die of a brain hemorage is beyond me_ he thought to himself.

  Rabid looked up slowly with glazed eyes.  "I'm going to kill them..." he said weakly.

  "I know," answered Qixx, "and I'll help you, but right now, you need some rest."  Rabid had acquired new cuts on his hands and face - his knuckles looked like something a snow-monster from Hoth might have spit out.  _Man, Rab, I sure don't want to see the back of your head_ he thought.

  "Yes...  rest...  no...  No, I can't..."  Rabid shook his head a little as if to clear his thoughts and groaned.  "I can't.  I've got to get more Sim time logged," he said groggily as he reached for the "start" button.  Pieces of his helmet with bits of hair stuck to them fell around his shoulders as he shifted position.

  Qixx reached across the controls, and gently, but firmly, held Rabid's wrist, preventing him from starting the sim run again.  "Yes," he said gently, "but not right now.  Come on, bud, we gotta go.  I know where there's a bed that would just love to have you in it."

  Rabid struggle weakly for a few seconds, too exhausted to do much more than that, and stopped after a few short seconds.  Rabid let his forehead droop to the console.  Qixx undid the buckles that held Rabid in the pilot chair, and tugged gently to dislodge Rabid from the tangle.  Rabid started to stand, but collapsed into Qixx instead.  Qixx caught his almost unconscious squadmate, and held him as he would a child, as Rabid started to sob.  Tears mingled with blood as they both stained the front of Qixx's fatigues.  Almost sitting anyway, Qixx brought Rabid the rest of the way to the floor and rocked him gently until he finally fell asleep again.

  Few had ever seem Rabid in this condition, almost none would even have thought him capable.  Some believed him an unknown factor, and questioned his presence on the Odin.  One of the Cadets, shortly after Rabid came back on board with Castor and MacMan (a pilot who had recently become one of those who left Grey on the "Command Track"), while in the Odin's Bar and Grill, had asked Castor about Rabid, and why was he a Grey pilot if he didn't fly.  Some of the Greys present, overhearing the question, had started joking about "fresh meat for dinner tonight".  But Castor only said, in a very quiet voice, but one that seemed to carry throughout the room, because all other conversation had instantly stopped, "Because, he's my friend."  No one had raised the question since.

  Qixx knew about Rabid and his problems, as did Castor, and a very few others.  Most tended to shy away from Rabid, because his scars sometimes, in certain light, made him look less than human, and his occasional unpredictable behaviors.  But Qixx patiently waited until Rabid was deeply asleep, picked him up, and carried him back to his quarters.  Onlookers offered help, but Qixx only requested that someone open Rabid's door, and then to be left alone.

  Once Rabid was on his bunk, and his boots had been removed, Qixx looked around at the scattered debris that used to be the furniture and accoutraments of Rabid's quarters.  He picked up most of the mess, and tossed the pieces of replaceable things down the cycler-chute.  Pieces of things he wasn't sure about, he piled into a corner.

  As he left, he dimmed the lights, turned and gave Rabid one more quick check to be sure, and softly said "I know how you feel, bud.  I know how you feel."

  Qixx had been having his own problem with "duality" lately.  The calling of the Dark Side of the Force had been almost overwhelming at times.  He had occasional nightmares for many years, but they seemed to be coming more frequently, and more frighteningly vivid.  Sometimes, it was so strong, he could almost taste it - and it frightened him.  He'd been thinking of talking with Castor about it - Castor seemed to be able to draw on both light and dark at the same time without adverse effects.  Now, considering Castor's condition, he may never get the chance.

  Closing Rabid's door, Qixx decided to go down to Med-Ops.  He was tired - he hadn't slept since before launching from the Independence, but there were a few more things he had to do.  As he walked through the door he spyed Jaltes Jace, along with Captain Ace Farlander, Commander Torin Qel Droma, 2nd Lt. Corran Horn Jr., Major Tile Hilder, and Commander Petr Margul.  Corran and Tile were confined to bed under observation boards, and Ace, Jaltes, Torin, and Petr sitting or standing nearby - Torin with his feet up on a nearby mobile console.  Ace was standing, waving his hands in the air in front of him to illustrate a point in his story as he talked excitedly.

  "Yo, dudes!"  Qixx called.

  "Yo, Qixx!"  Ace scrambled through the obstacle course of tables, chairs, and med-screens and consoles to greet the entering pilot.  Ace was an energetic sort, one of the youngest Grey pilots, and always seemed to be in motion.  His enthusiasm and light heartedness were infectious, and it was hard to keep a somber atmosphere when he was present.  "What did you do to your shirt?"

  Qixx answered in his easy fashion, "I got tired of the color - needed a change, but I ran out partway through."

  "Yo, Kicks!  Great to see your ugly face!  Now get it on out of here before I puke,"  Torin called.  Torin was a dark, sacastic, bantering officer who'd been on his own for a time, and had only recently come home to the Odin.  He and Qixx were the two seniormost Grey pilots, and had a relationship that spoke of many battles fought side by side.

  "Remind you of your mother, do I?  She said you used to do that alot, puke, when you were a little whizzer - I spent many a night with her, got to know her REAL well.  Hey, you know, I'm sure they've got some "Droma"-mine around here if you need.  Or at least they should - it IS Med-Ops."  Qixx countered.

  "You know, one of these days I'm going to leave your butt out there floating toward some big-ass gravity well.  Then we'll see about mothers" Torin replied.

  "Bite me,"  Vendant shot, "Sir!"

  Tile and Petr, both new additions to Grey, and friends before, watched the exchange silently, decided that Qixx and Torin really did like each other, and that they wouldn't have to stun anybody - not that Tile could do much of anything while confined to bed.

  Before Qixx could flame Torin again, or vice versa, Ace interrupted.  "Have you seen the guys?"  He tilted his head back toward the next doorway - the Tank room.

  "Not yet," Qixx replied, "I heard they found Quim and Saber, but I didn't hear anything about Neo.  Did they find him?"

  Tile and Petr continued their conversation softly as the info they already knew was told once more.  Captain Quim Rashada had been hit by the hood of his exploding A-Wing after he'd ejected.  His suit had stayed intact, but he'd recieved multiple fractures in various places - nothing dangerous, but serious enough.  Lt. Commander Saber had recieved radiation burns as the path of his ejection had just missed an oncoming TIE advanced, but he was caught in it's exhaust trail as it turned to avoid the Debris of his A-Wing.  Of the three Cadets flying in the mission, the one that had the B-Wing had multiple fractures, having ejected into the hull of the Star Destroyer.  The two flying an A-Wings had suffered oxygen starvation, having ejected early on - one had died.  The other two were in tanks.

  "Yep!"  Ace plucked at Qixx's sleeve, as if to draw him into the next room.  "You gotta come see.  Quim 'n' Saber are okay, two of the Cadets too, just a little broken 'n' bruised, but Neo's a mess.  I don't know zactly what happened, but he decompressed a liddlebit.  Boy he's a mess!  Castor's a mess too.  You gotta come see."  Ace had been talking a streak and hardly took a breath.

  "Stop!"  Qixx held up his hands in front of him, palms out, and Ace quit talking mid-word.  "I don't think I can go in there right now.  Sorry."

  "K.  But you should say 'hi', at least,"  Ace replied, a slightly hurt look on his face.  He turned and went into the Tank Room.

  "Listen, I just can't go in there now - maybe later," he called after Ace.  _I don't know that I could deal with that and the Dark Side, too, at the same time_ he thought.  Then he turned to Corran and Tile, both of whom had only been slightly injured in the battle.  "How are you guys holding up?"

  "I've been better."  Tile smiled, "happier, too.  The med-droids won't let me up."

  "Hey, Tile, at least we get a few days off" Corran tried to lighten Tile's mood.

  "Speedy and Ajax out doing the Academy thing?"  Qixx inquired.

  Ace stuck his head around the corner and called "Yep!  Last I heard - somebodies got to watch the Cadets.  It'd be a little hard for "the boss" right now.  Where's Rabid?"

  "Started to foam - had to put him down." Qixx half-joked.

  Then the general conversation turned to more mundane matters.  Ace only half listened as he walked back and forth among the bacta tanks, their residents floating just off the bottom.

  "Hey, guys," Ace said quietly enough that those outside wouldn't hear.  "I know you can't hear me, an' all, but I just want you to know that I'm here with you.  Even though you don't know, an' don't much care right about now, but at least I know somebody's in here with you.  Castor, they told me that you'd been tortured - really bad tortured, an' that you let them do it.  I don't know how you really had a choice, but I'm tryin' to understand.  There's alot of stuff I'm tryin' to understand.  Neo, you're the best there is, but I guess no matter how good you are sometimes things go wrong.  They said that you somehow managed to hold your suit closed even though you were unconscious and more'n'half dead when they finally found you. An' I guess that's another big lesson to learn, don't let yourself get rammed by a crazy dude flyin' an Avenger.  Quim an' Saber, it's not right without you guys here.  I'm learnin' an awful lot from all you guys, an' I'm tryin' to be just like you Castor, an' you Neo, an' Quim, an' Saber - I think I'll skip the bacta part this time, though - an' Qixx, an' all the other Grey pilots, an' I can't hardly believe I'm one, myself.  An' I know you really can't hear me, but I'm really upset right now, an' I really need you guys to come out soon.  An', Castor, I don't know how their goin' to fix you - you're missin' an awful lot of pieces.  They said you lost the right eye too.  An' nobody can figure out how you got the shields down on that whole first bunch of Avengers - nobody can figure out why ANY of us are alive, considerin' what you had to go through to help us out the way you did.  There was just too many Avengers..."  Ace's voice had faltered a few times.  He stopped and swallowed a few times, and refused to let any tears fall.

  Toward the end of the shift cycle, Tile and Corran were released from Med-Ops, and were ordered to stay in their own bunks for two days, but to call if they started to feel worse.  Lt. Commander John "Speedy" Gonzalez and Major Ajax Fardreamer stopped in after the end of the Academy shift, and stayed a while.  Qixx, Torin and Petr left as well, presumably to head up to the Officer's Lounge.  All the Greys went in to walk down the row of tanks, giving each a pat or a rub, before they left.  They all gave Ace a pat on the back or shoulder, as well, on their way out.

  But Jaltes hung back, and caught one of the med-droids.

  "Are they going to be okay," Jaltes asked, "the ones in the tanks?"

  "Yes," the med-droid replied.  "Captain Rashada and Lt.Commander Saber will be released in two days, and then confined to quarters for a week.  Commodore Neo will need about three more weeks of treatment, as he was suffered severe capillary bursting and hemorage along with acute nitrogen-narcosis caused by decompression.  We have also retained an inventory in stasis of many healthy parts from various cadavers of both Alliance and Imperial persons, and we have some, similar in body and blood type, with which we can repair or replace any parts in need of such for Colonel Efrata-Landis."

  "Thanks," said Jaltes, "see you tomorrow."

  "Good night, sir," bade the droid.

  Qixx stayed a while longer, alone but for the med-techs and droids.  He still couldn't bring himself to go in and look at the tanks.  At last, he left and made his way toward the Bar and Grill, leaving Ace to his solitary vigil.

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Late into the middle of the night cycle, when most of the crew was asleep, a solitary figure strode quietly into the Tank room.  Taking care to make sure that no conscious living beings were present, a Grey pilot - the Farlander boy - was asleep across a console - he'd be very stiff from cramps in the morning, he silently inspected the six bacta tanks and their human contents.  He stopped in front of Castor's and stood for a few minutes, deep in thought.  Only momentarily, and only just before he left, did the long green fingers gently touch the glass of Castor's tank.


